


Magic

by apostate (394percentdone)



Series: Freedom On My Tongue [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 05:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17115749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/394percentdone/pseuds/apostate
Summary: the origin of noure surana





	Magic

It starts simply. One child’s blood red eye turning gold during an afternoon picnic, talking to a bird in its own language. Noure is seven and when they hear their mother’s gasp and their father’s quiet plea to the Maker they don’t understand. When they’re told their parents are sorry but they can’t go outside for a while, they need to stay inside for just a while Noure it’s important, please listen to Momma and stay inside- Noure still doesn’t understand.

Only when they break this new rule and sit high in the branches of the Vhenadahl and begin to whisper among the leaves to the squirrels, when frightened eyes begin to stare and wicked fingers begin to point up towards them. When the word “ _Apostate_ ” is whispered amongst the few of their neighbors lingering under the great tree and their father rushes out to call to Noure to come back to him with a threat of tears in his voice does Noure understand.

Apostate. Monster. A threat right under their noses, living and breathing and causing a scene. Noure learns to ignore and to smile as only a child can smile in the face of these accusations.

The healer takes them under her wing. An old crone of an elf, wrinkles like canyons on her face, voice so withered and cracked Noure can sometimes barely understand her. Hair as white as Noure’s own. She teaches them, shows them the wonders of magic and tells them of the horrors it can bring. A second apprentice joining them not long after, a boy not two full years younger than Noure.

Ellanis, he introduces himself with a small voice and Noure is insensitive enough to only have eyes for the thick bandages around his right leg. They ask but Ellanis only says it was an accident, clams up when Noure presses. In the months they spend learning together it doesn’t heal, even when their mentor spends days pouring energy into it. For what it’s worth, Ellanis never cries.

Growing older, smarter if not wiser. Not yet. The old crone has taught them magic is a gift, a treasure others would kill them for. Told them to hide it away, keep it secret from those who would harm them. She has shown them all of the knowledge she kept, and Noure knows the healer’s lessons are hard won and self-taught. Noure never followed her directions, and it always brought a frown and a reprimand to the elderly elf’s lips. But, her weathered face peaceful now, when Noure pushes aside the door to check on her. Winter chill not to blame for how her skin is cold.

Nothing more than memory now. Noure honors her by living loudly, boldly. As they always have before. Ellanis was the perfect student, quiet and attentive and only asking questions their mentor could answer. Even when young Noure never could get the hang of it and by now they don’t see the point. So they live brashly, diving into trouble and delving into the affairs which could bring more harm than help. Asking uncomfortable questions loudly, boldly. Noure stands on street corners and gives aid to those who are ignored by everyone else, they find the hidden illnesses and cure them, they seek out everyone who needs their words or their magic and gives them both freely.

For all their mentor warned them Noure is unafraid. Almost an adult now, rebellious youth burning inside them and Noure is safe and secure in the knowledge they’re untouchable. Living alone, a shack of a house but they couldn’t endanger their parents, two souls Noure could never see harmed and their life is their own yes, but. Sometimes Noure thinks of home and it is not the worn bed they sleep in, it is not the broken window or the old and tilted door. They think of their mother's eyes and their father's smile and they think of laughter shared over dinner. It would only make things dangerous. They can’t take the risk when only Noure might be safe. Who would harm a healer after all?

Safe until they aren’t. Until a plate clad boot kicks down their door and the sword surrounded by Andraste’s flame is all Noure can see as they’re dragged from their bed. A smite sunders them from their magic and Noure is gasping for breath. Dawn barely breaking outside, a gauntleted fist in their hair. Spit congealing on their skin as the templars show their contempt. Struggles and swears. Noure kicks and tries to bite at the hand yanking them down the street, fury burning in their veins. Not crying and not accepting.

Drawing attention in the crisp morning air, loudly and boldly, shut eyes in windows and shutters closing around them. Alone and abandoned. One last attempt to break free from the grasp of their captor causes a second smite to take all the strength from Noure’s limbs, causes their eyes to roll back momentarily into their skull. “If the circle wasn’t expecting you I’d kill you right here. One less knife-ear abomination.”

Before blackness swallows their vision Noure makes out a second story window. Their gaze connecting with upturned eyes wide with terror. Ellanis’ face scrunched up with horror, mouth agape and tears falling down his cheeks to catch in the pale dawn light. Air fleeing Noure’s lungs, just last month they had shared their first kiss. And now…

Before this moment Noure hadn’t been afraid. But now it freezes under their skin, sinks into their bones. All of the fight in their lungs stolen from them and Noure doesn’t give up even when the darkness collapses down around them and their eyes, too, fall shut.

It’s a long journey, a harsh and cold one. Noure earns a gag on their first night when they nearly bite clean through the finger of the templar attempting to give them mage-bane. But it is five on one and Noure loses the fight in the long run. Fury still hot under their skin, terror still cold in their chest. They think of the life torn from them and they will not weep because they will not give the templars the satisfaction of their tears.

When they arrive at the Circle, standing foreboding and lonely in the middle of Lake Calenhad, Noure first takes stock of the landscape around it. Searches for a weakness in the stone of the tower, for a hidden current under the waves, a piece of shore guarded by trees. Anything which will help them when they escape. Because it will be the first thing Noure does. The templars have no mercy for Noure, and the Circle will have less.

Introductions to people Noure has no care for -faces swimming before their eyes as they’re herded through the labyrinthine structure. A bed and a set of robes are all they’re given, all they have. Both are old and ill-fitting. Noure doesn’t spend a night in either, when the sun sets and darkness falls on their first night in the Circle Noure is already climbing out a window on the second story.

And they’re caught with only one foot in the lake.

It marks the first of seven years worth of escape attempts. Noure never gives up. Never stops trying to make their way back to a life which was stolen before their eyes. Learns what they can from those around them, finds solace in a close-knit group of friends. Finds something more in the soft eyes and warm arms of Karl and Anders.

The open air and stars still call to them. Freedom sings in their blood and Noure will never be able to do as Irving asks and settle down into their new life here. But that doesn’t matter. Not yet. Noure sits on the edge of a window, places a pale palm against the cold glass and remembers what the old crone, their dearest mentor, told them once a long time ago. On a warm autumn night, her wrinkled hand holding Noure’s fresh one. There had been a scare, a templar coming into the alienage and roughing up some of them looking for an excuse to brawl.

“Magic is in your soul child. It is a gift and a curse and you must always hold it close to your chest. Protect it and yourself. There is no Circle which can hold you, and there is no one in the world who can stop you. So you must do it yourself. Live for yourself only and magic will corrupt you. Live for others and magic will bless you.”

Noure blinks back tears and tries to piece together a plan. To live freely, for themselves and for others who need them. That is what matters, what they wish they could tell their old mentor. But Noure can do neither in this moment, so they sit in the moonlight on the hard stone of the windowsill and they do what they’ve always done.

Live. Loudly, and boldly.

**Author's Note:**

> you can also read this on my tumblr at http://apostatetabris.tumblr.com/post/180470439379/magic or on pillowfort at https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/312953


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